Goddess Volume One Descention: Book 1: Asylum
by Haley Mitchell
Summary: Excerpt: Batman's silent attack was a nightmare come true... Frenzied shrieks echoed off the tunnel walls and fuelled the panic that gripped the men. Fear froze their hearts, knotted their bellies and turned their bowels to water as they danced in the spinning darkness to the music of their own screams. Continued in Book 2: Combustion. Violence.
1. Chapter 1

_This story is based upon the world or worlds and characters created by the imaginative minds behind DC comics of which I do not own rights. _

_I also do not claim the rights to the poetry used to inspire each chapter._

_I do however claim rights to the characters I have created in this work._

_Any similarities of characters named or described in this work to real people alive or dead is purely coincidental._

* * *

**Goddess: Descention**

_**Book One: Asylum **_

**_Prologue: Limbo_**

* * *

**In The Desert**

**_In the desert_**

**_I saw a creature, naked, bestial,_**

**_Who, squatting upon the ground,_**

**_Held his heart in his hands,_**

**_And ate of it._**

**_I said, __"__Is it good, friend?__"_**

**"_It is bitter-bitter,__"__ he answered;_**

**"_But I like it_**

**_Because it is bitter,_**

**_And because it is my heart.__"_**

_Stephen Crane _

_(1871-1900)_

* * *

_Gotham City_

He watches from the shadows in the back of his cell. Grey walls quiver with the brightness of shuddering fluorescent lights. He focuses his attention on the buzzing overhead and imagines an angry insect trapped inside the long glass tube. He envisions the creature's desperation; exposed to dazzling light it madly hurls it's minute body against it's prison's smooth walls in a futile effort to escape, thus causing it's prison to twitch and flicker. He knows it's the stark illumination of it's asylum that makes the insect insane. The bright scrutiny pushes it over the edge into madness for it knows the light will draw out it's very soul. It knows it will die unless it tastes freedom again. The watcher knows it's pain.

Below he hears the skittering of cockroaches and rats in dark corners. They deftly avoid the light and are seen only by accident. They live in shadow and leave scant evidence of their passing but they exist nonetheless, crawling through the cracks and committing their vile, secret atrocities in their murky black holes and he envies them.

He watches and listens and ponders these things in his cell, his personal hell. This asylum. The word means sanctuary. It implies safety, a haven away from a world outside that would do harm, but he knows that is a fallacy. It is the world outside that is the asylum and to keep it safe they banish the darkness to places like this. They torture it with light, put it behind grey stone and try to forget that it's still there, like the rats and the cockroaches. He is trapped here like a bug under glass, forced into a light that tries to blast away his darkness, his true self. But not for long, oh no, not for long.

This place, this asylum is limbo, a place in-between the world outside these walls and his world of blood and darkness. This place keeps the two worlds from meeting, but meet they will, it is inevitable.

Limbo: A barren place where he spends his days and nights filling the emptiness with meandering thoughts, trying to hold on to what he is. Trying to resist what they want him to be, like them, like this place; grey and dead.

He dwells on what led him here, re-lives it in his mind. He relishes the memories of freedom, it is all he has in here, everything else has been taken away. His quest hindered by his incarceration, stopped by… _Him_. Always Him. Sinister and righteous. Righteous and blinded by it. Why can't he see it? Why does he fight against what is meant to be? Why does he deny what he truly is? He hides behind a futile quest for justice and he squanders his freedom! Anger and hate rumble up from his belly like bile, he tastes the rage but forces it back down. Be calm. There is a time for everything, and there will be a time for _Him_.

He is a firm believer in Fate. He is Fate's instrument, it's right hand, it's dark and shining sword. He is it's weapon of choice because only he sees the world for what it truly is… A graveyard; full of corpses that are ignorant of the fact that they are dead. Lonely depressed shadows of the people they could be. They shamble about their lightened world believing they are safe from the truth. Living the lie that is their pitiful existence. Prisoners in cages of their own making. Only he sees the truth, only he sees them for what they really are; dull empty shades. It is his right, no, his duty to show them what they really are. Teach them what they need to learn: The truth of their existence and of his. The only true form of justice is the basest kind: Life for those who know the secret of existence and death for everyone else. They need to know this, they all need to know! His pulse quickens as the rage rises again and he pounds on the hard grey floor with his fist and the pain pulls him back to himself. He takes a long slow breath… Patience. Fate will see him through this grey empty place and he will be delivered into the world and there… he will shine again.

There are precious few like him. Shining ones. Those that shine see the truth. Some, like him embrace it but others, they deny it. They try to live the great lie and as a result they live in misery. It is the shining ones that hold the power. He needs their power, their inner fire and only he can free it from deep inside their fragile flesh and in return he would liberate them from their misery.

But he's freed so many and still he has failed to defeat Him. Without Him he could deliver the truth to the masses without fear. Oh, how grand that would be: To cut into Him, free His shining darkness, the radiance must be brilliantly magnificent, and the power he could gain would be vast.

But how? So many times he has failed. Why, with all the power of the multitude of souls he's freed does he still find himself here!? Where did he go wrong? What was he missing? His mind wanders back to the beginning, when Fate first called upon him and he smiled as a warm glow enveloped him. Then realization dawned on him, an epiphany: He had lost sight of his true purpose! He has been so intent on defeating Him that he had forgotten his quest, the true meaning of his existence. Small wonder he has wallowed here so easily defeated. Fate was punishing him for forsaking his duty, allowing him to rot in this prison.

Silently he vowed that he would not abandon his quest again. The weak and pitiful ones, they were never enough, only a dalliance, an addiction, he could see that now. He allowed his craving to control him but his destiny was larger than those petty lives. He must follow the path Fate had decreed for him so long ago and if he was successful he could defeat Him. Every molecule of his being knew this to be true. He had to dispense with his old habits, he had to recreate himself and he had to escape from this Limbo and he knew beyond a doubt that Fate would show him the way.

Metal grinding against metal drew him away from his contemplations as the grey iron doors at the end of the hall opened. He heard them coming, three of them. Two sets of heavy footfalls from the end of the long grey hallway, and one pair of shackled feet shuffling between, all coming closer. The watcher waits, enveloped in the blackness of his cell. The two walk quickly, they don't want to be here. The third, whose desire to be here is much, much less drags his feet, he has all the time in the world.

No longer just footsteps in the distance they come into view but the watcher stays hidden. Guards guide a prisoner to his new home, the cell across from the watcher's own. The guards, large men, perhaps muscular in their youth but inaction has made them soft. The watcher sneers in the darkness… _dead men walking_. Both flash a quick nervous glance into the watcher's dark cell behind them but they see only shadow. "Hey, he's supposed to be in there isn't he?" one asks nervously. Hidden in the blackness of his cell the watcher smiles, he could almost smell their fear.

"Sure he is," the other walks toward the watcher's cell and hit's the steel bars with his baton, "aren't ya, you freak?" Silence follows the fading echo of the clang on the bars. Concern colors the guards voice, as the other looks around the other cells nervously. "Come on, show yourself or you get to visit the pit again!"

"M-maybe he's not in there." the other guard tightens his hold on the arm of his manacled prisoner, fear creeps into his voice. "We need to secure this one, then call…" but he is interrupted by a hissing noise from the dark cell. The guard that had approached the cell backs quickly away as a stream of urine arcs through the bars and out into the hall, followed by a low rasping laughter.

"Goddamn creepy bastard! You're gonna pay for that you freak!"

"Hey, calm down, at least we know he's in there. Let's get this one secured, and get the hell out, I hate it down here." The guards turn back to their young charge and they hide their momentary weakness with malice. They shove their prisoner into his new home with curses: "Fucking baby killer!", and "Rot in hell!" roll off their thick, dry tongues.

Their prisoner, the new one, he is as tall as the guards, this new neighbor, but young, lanky, sallow-faced and defeated. The watcher can see there is no fight left in him as one of the guards give him one last kick for good measure before they lock him inside. He makes no move to get up, he just lays there where they tossed him, like the garbage they think he is. The watcher pays the guards no more notice as they leave, mumbling more curses and backward scowls his way. His attention now is on the wretched boy on the floor of the cell across the twitching hall.

He hugs himself as if in pain and he is in pain, but it has nothing to do with his treatment by the guards. The watcher knows this, he has felt that pain. The uncertainty, the self loathing, and the fear. The dark desires eating away at him, knowing that in this place, he can do nothing to alleviate the hunger. He is trapped in this hell like a caged animal, broken, pathetic and without any hope of deliverance. The watcher smiles again… _Fate has not forsaken me, this is perfect. _

The footfalls of the guards and the final heavy clang of the iron door at the end of the hall leaves them in silence. Several long minutes pass as he watches the boy moan softly in his misery. He lets the reality of this dank and dismal place sink in before the watcher breaks the silence with a whisper from the depths of his own darkened cell. "Just starting his career and he is caught and caged already… nipped in the bud as they say." He pauses a moment before he continues; "Such potential to be wasted in here, in hell, when all the devil really wants is to go out into the world and spread his message. Isn't that true little one?"

"Leave me alone!" the boy growls, still doubled over. The watcher grins, he had been dissected by enough psychiatrists, psychologists, and psychoanalysts over the years to know how to manipulate a young tortured soul such as the one across from him. He was him once, a long time ago, unsure of everything but the darkness that lived inside him. Feeling broken. Trying to be 'normal' but knowing that unleashing the darkness inside was the only way to feel complete, better than 'normal', just not knowing how. It was all about the rage back then, the watcher knew this from his own experience. Developing a personal ritual was key to controlling the hunger and letting the darkness become real so that he could feel alive. The watcher had discovered the truth to his own existence. The awful bloody truth. His smile grew in the darkness as he briefly contemplated his own… awakening. But, back to the task at hand…

"Hell is not a safe place little one, unless the devil has your back."

The boy peers into the dark cell across from him but sees only blackness. "What do you want from me!?"

"Want? You have nothing to give, but I do. I am a veritable cornucopia of survival skills, and you little baby killer need me, if you want to survive hell."

The boy still on the floor of his cell, his knees drawn up to his chin, his pain forgotten, for the moment, replaced by a reluctant curiosity. He stares into the darkness outside his cage and sneers, "If I have nothing to give then why would you help me?"

"Because I know you boy, I was you, once upon a time. If I had guidance then, someone to show me the way… Instead, like you I wallowed in the world with no direction, no true purpose. Letting the rage take it's course without a meaningful path, mindless. That lack of direction leaves trails, trails that can be followed. It is why you are here… in hell."

The boy looks intently into the dark cell across from his, striving to see his unexpected benefactor. "Why are you here then?"

The watcher's hidden smile fades. "It took the Bat to bring me here. He is different… He is really one of us; that dark rage is inside him too. Like us, his darkness shines but unlike us he denies the shadows he lives in. He lives with his pain and denies his true purpose, his bloody truth, whatever that is for him."

The boy sits up, interested now. "What is this truth, what does it mean?"

"Truth… it is a personal thing, different for everyone. We grow into it. We become 'It', whatever 'It' is. I know my truth, do you know yours?"…..

The boy looks down, unable to reply. "I thought not." the watcher chuckles. ""but you are young yet. It will grow into you."

"But I want to know now! I can feel it, inside. I need… to get out of here! I need…"

The watcher interrupts, his voice grows firmer: "That need is the hunger; your darkness just wants to shine, but what you need to do is to control it, at least in here. If you do not this place will truly be hell for you. I could help you, but my time here is short, you will need to learn much and learn it quickly."

"I will, I'll do anything!"

A long silence follows, as if the watcher is thinking over what he had already decided as soon as he saw the boy. "Patience young one, we have some time. You must take…" he laughs quietly, "baby steps at first."

The boy crawled to the bars of his cell, on his knees he begs, "Please, teach me!"

"Very well." He chuckles quietly to himself, _perfect indeed_. "First, you must show them, the doctors, the guards, everyone here, how docile you are. Let them think they have broken you, but give them hope that they can fix you. Cry, pray, in a word; pretend. Be their perfect little lab rat and run their little mazes. You must make them believe you are taking their little pills like a good little inmate. But most of all you must deal with your hunger and the rage it causes. They must never see that. Do you understand?"

"Yes, but how?"

"Pain."

"I - I don't understand."

"Pain will subdue the hunger. Inflicted by yourself. Hidden, on yourself…" With that the dark watcher steps forward into the odious light, he shows his young new pupil his pride an joy. Hundreds of hatch marks carved lovingly into his flesh. One for each of his victims. He stands naked, proudly displaying his art, his living scarred canvas. "It's done wonders for me."

The boy looks up at him in awe and whispers… "Z-Zsasz!"


	2. Chapter 2

**Goddess: Descention**

_**Book One: Asylum**_

**Part One: Earthshine**

* * *

**_The Eagle_**

**_He clasps the crag with crooked hands;_**

**_Close to the sun in lonely lands,_**

**_Ringed with the azure world, he stands._**

**_The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls;_**

**_He watches from his mountain walls,_**

**_And like a thunderbolt he falls._**

_Lord Alfred Tennyson_

_(1809-1892)_

* * *

_Gotham City_

Only a sliver of a moon hung over Gotham City but the rest of the dark grey sphere was still visible behind it. Earthshine, is what the phenomena is called, where most of the moon is hidden from the radiance of the sun but lit by the dim illumination of the earth.

If the moon was a conscious entity as it was believed to be by primordial man eons ago then the shining silver crescent seemed to peek down at the world as if it feared to show it's full face… Afraid perhaps of what might look back up at it.

Under that timid moon a shadow moved, but the heavens were not where it's attention was directed. The moon had nothing to fear from this apparition, but the vermin below did. They moved in darkness but the shadow saw. They spoke in hushed voices but the shadow heard. They believed they acted in secret, but the shadow knew them. The vermin of Gotham City kept no secrets from it's shadow-cloaked protector for long.

He could have moved on them as soon as he saw what they planned to trade. Guns, several crates of them stacked in the two black plate-less SUVs they pulled up in. Double parked on the deserted street, they stood around their cars talking quietly. It would be an easy hit, the guns were still locked up in the vehicles but he waited, he wanted their customers too. Crouched on the topmost crumbling balcony of an old tenement building in Gotham's east end he watched and listened and waited, as silent as stone.

He counted six so far and recognized four of them as low level muscle for hire with a long list of violent priors. Below him the four he knew scanned the area with apprehension. They frequently looked up at the tall buildings masked in darkness, untouched by the glow of the sporadic streetlights, with thinly veiled fear. Inwardly the shadow smiled, he knew what scared them. The other two were new to him. He listened to them admonish their hired help for their unease. Judging from their bearing and the lack of concern, they were new to Gotham, new to his city. They'll soon learn to fear Gotham's night.

Batman heard before he saw the white panel truck pull around the corner followed by a black sedan. He watched them park only a few yards away from the SUVs. Several more; three from the sedan joined the others and two from the truck hauled open it's sliding rear door and two more hopped out. Inside the panel truck, stacked on pallets and covered with plastic were hundreds of small green boxes. Seven of the newcomers were clad in black head to toe and moved with an economy of motion usually ascribed to dancers, athletes or martial artists… _Interesting_. The last was tall but slender, he wore a long dark overcoat and his face was hidden by the shadow of a wide brimmed hat, but Batman did see a wisp of… was that long white hair? _Curiouser and curiouser. _

He contemplated moving on them now, but he waited and listened intently to their conversation. He hoped to learn more about these newcomers before he attacked. Who was White-hair and what exactly was inside those boxes? Below he heard the two groups exchange strained, nervous pleasantries, White-hair's voice had a distinct accent, Boston perhaps… Then suddenly another voice split his concentration, a familiar voice.

"Sir? A situation has developed you may be interested in." Batman tapped his communicator twice, a signal that meant he heard the communication but could not reply at the moment and that Alfred should continue. They had developed a thousand such signals over the years, he and Alfred, his oldest friend. Sometimes he thought they could literally have an entire conversation without speaking a word, they knew each other so well.

On the street below him he watched as White-hair ripped the plastic wrapping off the corner of one of the pallets, pull out a box and open it, but Batman could not see what it contained, one of the newcomers had moved in to block his view… Alfred's voice continued over the com-system built into his cowl. "There has been an incident on the island Sir, a rather serious incident. I realize you may be in the middle of something so I shall monitor the police bands, shall I also ready the amphibious vehicle?" Single tap; yes. "And reposition the satellite?" Another single tap. Judging from Alfred's tone it was serious. Deadly serious.

Batman was torn. The 'island' was Arkham Island and the incident could only mean the asylum and _that _meant any number of horrors could be unleashed upon his city. Were a small group of arms smugglers worth it? Damn, he thought, he couldn't just let them go…

Batman slowly stood, poised on the edge of a tilted balcony railing, balancing effortlessly and prepared for his assault. He was tall, well over six feet and his body was encased in dark body armor that fit his muscular form perfectly. A long cape flowed behind him, blacker than night. The pointed mask he wore hid only the upper half of his face and it's brows were furrowed which enhanced his scowl as he looked down upon the men below. He hit a button on his gauntlet that would summon his vehicle, the Batmobile, then he leapt off the railing and into the startled group below. As he fell toward his prey he thought, _I__'__ll just have to make this quick. _

Batman landed atop the hood of one of the SUVs with a sound like thunder and took out one of the hired thugs with a sweeping kick that caught him in the back of the head. The momentum sent the thug careening into the side of the damaged vehicle, his head cracking the glass of the passenger side window. Silent amid shouts of alarm the Batman vaulted off the car and hit two more before the first thug hit the pavement. They both were reaching for guns but Batman caught their hands at the wrists in a vice-like grip and twisted. Their cries of pain didn't completely drown out the sound of breaking bones. Batman let go their wrists and quickly took the side of each of their heads in a gauntleted hand and crashed them together with a sickening thud. They both fell in a crumpled heap at Batman's feet.

The last of the hired thugs was running as one of the newcomers who hired the useless muscle was moving on him from behind. A quick elbow to the face stayed the rear attack as Batman flung a batarang at the fleeing hood. The bat-shaped weapon hit it's mark and the thug hit the street face first and slid a few feet before he lay still, sprawled haphazardly in the middle the road. The batarang flew back to it's owner who deftly caught it as he prepared for five of the black clad fighters that were moving in on him in a combat stance he found somehow familiar. Behind them he saw White-hair swiftly moving around the panel truck with two of the black clothed fighters.

The other newcomer had a gun pulled and was bringing it to bear while his friend, blood spurting from a broken nose, cowered behind him. Without a moments hesitation Batman flung the newly caught batarang at the gunman. The force of the blow sent the newcomer flying backward and his gun went clattering out of reach under one of the SUVs, the batarang then ricocheted off the skull of the now unconscious arms dealer as he fell to the ground and hit his friend on the side of the head sending him staggering into the truck, splattering blood from his shattered nose on the white panel, then he too was on the ground. Briefly Batman wondered where White-hair went, but he didn't have time to ponder, the five dark clad warriors that remained were on him. Now the real fight was on.

Batman heard the distinct sound of the panel truck's engine fire up, as the black-clothed attackers advanced. White-hair was getting away with what ever it was in those green boxes! A guilt-ridden rage welled up, but there would be time to admonish himself later. The five before him were skilled martial artists that used their smaller size and quick movements to their advantage, attacking all at once. They coordinated their efforts, and Batman realized they have fought together before, many times. They were buying the white-haired one time to escape, keeping Batman busy blocking blows from all sides while their leader? Employer? Made his getaway. He didn't have time for this, but finally Batman found an opening; one had slightly over-reached a low body kick. A mistake his friends tried to cover by simultaneous attacks. They were fast but not fast enough. With a swiftness that belied by his size Batman moved into the faulty kick and managed to grab hold of his attackers ankle. This left his back and side open to the blows by the others. But their attacks were hurried and their glancing blows didn't have the impact they should have, still he felt the strikes to his shoulder and lower back and knew if the blows hit their mark and if he wasn't wearing armor the attacks would have brought him to his knees.

Caught like a fox in a trap the black clothed attacker tried to flip and twist out of his enemy's grip, but Batman anticipated this tactic and used the momentum of the flip to redirect him into two of his friends. He was a black blur that spun into the closest of his two allies knocking them both off balance. The others, who were furthest away side-stepped their friend-turned-missile avoiding an impact but forcing them to move further away from the fight. Behind them the panel truck was pulling away, and two of the dark warriors broke off their attacks to perform a running leap inside the back of the fleeing truck.

Batman's last move gave him the time to pull three things from his belt that he hurled immediately at the retreating vehicle. Two of the missiles were small devices he aimed at the rear tires of the truck, but only one hit it's mark, one of the attackers hurled himself at Batman with a flying kick that he easily blocked but it threw off his aim. On impact one device exploded and the truck rocked up and came down with a crash. One set of it's double rear wheels were shredded rubber on bent rims. The other device only barely missed the other set of tires but it did cause the truck to rise up in the back and fall hard back to the road sending the men inside sprawling among their illicit green boxes. The damaged vehicle stopped momentarily but lurched forward again and continued it's escape albeit slower but the sudden jolts knocked the loose green box out of the open rear door and sent it plummeting to the pavement. Batman heard the muffled sound of breaking glass from inside the small box. The other gadget he threw was aimed at the wrapped boxes inside the truck. It was a tracking device he hoped would go unnoticed to wherever White-hair was fleeing to. Batman only hoped he would have the time later tonight to track him because he didn't have the time now.

The only dark clad assailant still standing at the moment revived his attacks while the other two tried to get their feet beneath them. He blocked a flurry of aggressive attacks and spun on the two rising from the ground with a low sweeping kick that knocked them both down again. A solid punch to the jaw made sure one didn't get back up again anytime soon, the other had sense enough to roll away before he too was rendered unconscious. But Batman moved with him and whipped his cape out at the last attacker standing, disorienting him while he grabbed the one on the ground and knocked him out cold with a powerful backhand. The last one standing seemed to act in desperation now as he actually grabbed Batman's cape to pull him away from his friend. Batman turned and pulled the cape back dragging the desperate combatant with it. A quick punch to the temple ended the fight and it took all of thirty seconds.

The Batmobile pulled up as Batman disarmed and secured the last of the criminals. He took visual scans of the two newcomers as well as the three now unmasked, black-garbed fighters to add to his facial recognition database and wondered at their training and who White-hair was to employ such protection. As he surveyed the scene Batman sent out an automated call to the police that would indicate the numbered code and location of the offence as well as the description of the truck and driver that escaped. He also indicated that ambulances would be required.

He found the green box that fell off the truck as White-hair drove away. Inside the crushed box were vials, most were broken and an odourless, clear liquid soaked the inside of the container and seeped through to leave a stain on the asphalt of the street. He counted a dozen in the box but only two remained intact. He left one for the police and took one to analyze himself. Batman contacted Alfred and had him monitor the panel truck and send Nightwing in follow it. He didn't like having to call another in on one of his cases but he had no choice, he had a more pressing engagement; on Arkham Island.

* * *

_To be continued..._


	3. Chapter 3

**Goddess: Descention**

_**Book One: Asylum**_

_**Part Two: Escape**_

* * *

_**Unnamed**_

**_Safe upon the solid rock the ugly houses stand:_**

**_Come and see my shining palace built upon the sand!_**

_Edna St. Vincent Millay_

_(1892-1950)_

* * *

_Gotham City_

Arkham Island squats like a malignant toad in the middle of the dark oily pond that is Gotham Bay, but it hasn't always been so… Ages before human habitation, fresh water from a then unnamed and unobstructed river mixed and eddied with the saltwater of the ocean which supplied the area with nutrients making the small bay an estuary; a place teeming with life. This meeting of waters also left deposits of sediment that were trapped by a jagged granite outcropping near the river's mouth and over a time measured in millennia, an islet was born.

When the abundance of the New World was _discovered_ it was at first cultivated and soon abused. What took millennia to grow has only taken a century to destroy. Now the pollution of a rapidly growing mega-metropolis has irreparably poisoned the small bay. The island within however, is continually fortified by the constant supply of sediment from the Gotham River, but eaten away by the relentless current and the bite of polluted seawater that eddy around it… Thus Arkham Island grows and decays simultaneously.

Once, not so long ago, the islet was a city within a city. A low-income housing district complete with schools, businesses, a municipal train station and a port for the Gotham Ferry Line grew next to the Arkham Estate-turned Asylum and all was well. Then Arkham expanded, it became a prison that housed the worst of the worst of humanity. It swallowed up the land around itself to accommodate it's own growing degenerate population. Soon the shops and schools shut down as displaced and frightened citizens left for the mainland. Property value on the island dropped dramatically while Arkham continued to grow. After a time the trains and the ferries stopped going to the island altogether. The few citizens that remained and couldn't afford to move relocated to the island's west side and created a slum of desperation and despair.

Just when it seemed life on Arkham island couldn't get any worse the earthquake struck. Gotham was never considered a hot-spot for seismic activity; no one expected it and no one was prepared for it. Certainly not the builders of the skyscrapers or the condos, the homes and schools, and the hospitals… But it wasn't only that the building codes were not strict enough, it was that the building inspectors got rich looking the other way. So when the temblor rolled through the city it caused billions in damages affecting every structure in the city and cost an invaluable loss of life. Homes were said to fold in on themselves, apartment buildings collapsed, gas leaks and fires raged across the whole of Gotham but nowhere was hit in the city worse than the island. The Arkham prison facility was dreadfully damaged and the inmates were quick to use the confusion and devastation to their advantage. On top of the desolation of the earthquake and the looting and desperate violence that followed, Gotham also suffered the consequences of the mass escape of many of Arkham's most dangerous and deranged prisoners. It was a dark time for Batman and his city, but they both endured, scarred to be sure, but a handful of years later, both still survive.

Though the entirety of the island belongs to the prison facility now, the areas beyond the walled-off section of the prison proper are a labyrinth of shanty-towns and quake-damaged buildings that precariously stand to provide dangerous shelters for the homeless and dysfunctional of Gotham's underground population. It is a no-man's land with little infrastructure and no authority. There is no police presence there because, as it is a prison, it is considered State property and the guards of the Arkham correctional facility rarely venture out from behind the safety of the prison walls. Once in a while however, the city bureaucrats make a show of cleaning up the island - usually during an election year. They coordinate the GCPD and Arkham internal security and patrol the island in force. But like vermin under a spotlight, the itinerate inhabitants of the island scatter and hide. Only the slowest, dimmest and most damaged are caught; a frighteningly small number of the island's actual population. Nevertheless the effort is always considered a magnificent success.

Although closed off to the general public the Arkham Maximum Security Correctional Facility and Asylum for the Criminally Insane is a busy place. It houses a who's who list of the most infamous and nefarious criminal minds in the country, possibly the world. In a state without the death penalty the sociopaths walled inside the asylum claim sanctuary from a death sentence many believe they richly deserve. Inside the walls of Arkham they are analyzed, scrutinized and studied by psychiatrists, psychologists and sociologists from every corner of the globe. Only Gotham City could boast such a demented tourist attraction. Between examinations and therapy sessions these evil human caricatures and demented minds have nothing to do but think and the one thing these varied psychopaths have in common besides incarceration is… they all think of escape and sometimes, against all odds, they succeed.

No one knows how the riot began this time, the area was still too chaotic to sort out. The police band and the satellite relays showed the disturbance seemed to be isolated in Arkham's east-wing, near the medical facility. Staff were being evacuated and lock-down had occurred in all parts of the prison. Alfred, who had been diligently watching the events unfold from the safety of the Cave, reported that all other areas were secured.

Upon hearing that Batman sighed in relief: _If that was true then Dent, Nigma, Jones and Joker among others were still confined and would stay that way, hopefully._ But it wasn't all good news.

That part of the prison housed some of the least controllable of the inmates; close to medical because they frequently hurt each other and themselves. Batman knew that in one of the sub-basements there was an isolation ward. Actually there were several such wards spread out in the facility. A careful nudge by Bruce Wayne who has a seat on the board of directors made it so. Isolation wards held the more extravagant of Arkham's population and separated them. Many of these particular inmates had money, connections and loyal followers on the outside. This made escape attempts and riots not uncommon. Spreading these special inmates around the prison reduced the chance of them breaking out the other 'specials', as some of the Arkham staff called them, just to add confusion and to cover their own escapes… It's happened before.

This particular ward held the infamous Dr. Jonathan Crane, a.k.a. The Scarecrow. Obsessed with all things pertaining to fear, the doctor once oversaw Arkham Asylum but he abused his power. He let his obsession take control and began using the patients under his care as human guinea pigs for his cruel and twisted experiments. Now ironically, he was an inmate in his own asylum.

Batman stood on the mainland, on the top floor of an unfinished condo complex surrounded by iron girders rusting in the salty air. This building, on the shore of Gotham Bay, rose from the ashes of an older fire ravaged apartment block. Work on the project slowed down then stopped completely; no one was buying into the new property. Batman supposed no one wanted a view of the Bay that included the loathsome rock that was Arkham Island in the middle of it. No one that is, except him.

The view was perfect for surveying the northeast side of the island. As he scanned the area he listened to Alfred's calm voice as he informed him of the details of this latest crisis. The island's only open land line, the bridge, glowed with red and blue flashing lights as emergency vehicles trickled in through the gates. Above the island police helicopters circled and shined their spotlights on the chaos below. He saw the compound, surrounded by the many buildings or wings of the prison, fill with armed Arkham guards and Gotham police. He observed the specially trained riot squad move into position to advance on the easternmost wing. Inside the building he saw smoke rising in the night, sooty grey against the black sky and an occasional orange flame licked up from one of the few barred windows. Around the prison proper and slightly taller than the tallest of it's buildings, were the walls of the Arkham Correctional Facility. Made of cement, several feet thick at it's base and topped with electrified razor-wire, the walls enclosed the prison in an unyielding and unassailable embrace. Or so it would seem…

Every structure is only as strong as it's foundations, and Arkham Island was rotting. Eroded by the sea and damaged by the earthquake the granite that supports the prison was riddled with micro-fractures. These cracks allowed the erosive salt in water and air to leach in and corrode the structure from the inside. Disintegrating mortar, rusting conduits, crumbling cement and neglect all served to provide holes for those desperate enough to slip through and in Arkham, every inmate was desperate enough.

Inside the walls the numerous guards and police seemed to have things contained and Batman's presence would only confuse and add more chaos to the situation. No, he would do more good elsewhere. Batman was certain this riot was only a cover for an escape. He scanned the outside of the prison walls. Set high on the rocky cliffs on this side of the island, it was unfeasible for a prisoner to attempt an escape over the walls. Climbing them without equipment is next to impossible not to mention extremely visible but there were other ways to get past a wall… Then he saw it; at the base of the cliff, something orange appeared at the shoreline among the jagged rocks at the base of the cliff that was the eastern side of the island. It was there one second and gone the next. Orange, an orange Arkham prison uniform. As with all vermin, if you see one, chances were there were others around.

Batman was airborne a moment later, cape extended, the fabric electrically locked in the glider configuration, he caught a thermal and coasted over the bay. The submersible was on it's way, directed remotely by Alfred, then at Batman's signal Alfred transferred it's controls to him. The small one-man submarine was based on a design by two brilliant Korean engineers whose genius Wayne Tech was quick to tap. Able to traverse both over and under water at high speed, the small oval submersible gave Batman a unique advantage in his coastal city. He guided the sub to a mid-point between the east side of the prison and his own trajectory then halted it's progress as he glided down toward it. Horizontal, scalloped fins or wings that retracted when the vehicle was submerged steadied the craft on the water's surface. From above the craft looked like a glossy black bat floating on the water. Batman landed on the smooth, gently rocking hull and once inside the craft's cockpit, he set a course for the island's shore.

Nearing the island was tricky, sharp submerged rocks could rip open the hull of even the smallest light-weight craft. Batman noticed the Harbor Patrol cruising around the bay, watching for escapees mostly near the shoreline of the mainland. They knew of the dangers that dwelt just under the surface near the infamous island and gave it a wide berth. Batman's craft was much more manoeuvrable than those of the Harbor Patrol however, and his below surface detection systems were much more advanced.

At the base of the cliff Batman found what he glimpsed at from the mainland; a floating corpse wearing an orange prison uniform caught in a roughly circular formation of rocks that prevented the current from carrying it away. Batman wondered how he got there as he scanned the area. Behind the dead inmate, where sea met stone, there was no evidence of a breach in the wall or in the granite cliff beneath. _Perhaps he did reach the top of the wall, only to fall to his death during his descent._ Anything was possible, but Batman doubted that theory. _More likely the inmate came from an underwater passage of some kind, a path that proved to be too arduous for him and he drowned in the attempt. _That was theory too though, and Batman was all about facts. He inched his craft nearer the ring of stones that still held the dead inmate prisoner, opened the canopy and stepped onto the island's rocky shore.

Details began to emerge as Batman approached the corpse. He was slightly overweight but his prison uniform was loose and baggy; he was losing weight while under confinement. As Batman drew closer he could see instantly how the man died. _He didn__'__t drown or fall from the wall above; this man was murdered. _The lacerations on his back indicated that he was obviously assaulted from behind but the pattern was erratic, Batman could not get a sense of the height of the attacker from the wounds' placement. The weapon was small though, something easily concealed in a prison environment, but there was little blood. The varying depths of the cuts told Batman he was moving away from his attacker. He glanced down at the victims legs where more wounds were evident by torn fabric. _Swimming away then._ Batman turned the corpse over and instantly knew who he was. Simon Dunstan, recidivist child molester. Incarcerated in Arkham eighteen months ago after repeatedly violating the conditions of his parole. Pleading insanity but responsible for abusing several children between the ages six and twelve, and those were just the ones who came forward. It is estimated that he exploited dozens, maybe hundreds of children during his monstrous career… Few would mourn him.

Batman rose and turned from the dead man, he had revealed all he could and Batman was finished with him. He picked his way back to the sub and once inside Batman turned his craft around.

The killer had nowhere to go but the mainland. He confirmed with Alfred, who had been monitoring the island since the riot began, that no boats neared the island except Harbor Patrol who were charged with insuring that no unauthorized vessels approached. That left only one option for Dunstan's killer; a mile and a half swim. Batman spotted a Harbor Patrol boat in the distance combing the shore with spotlights, but he concluded that they would be relatively easy to avoid for a lone swimmer. A helicopter combed the waters of the bay with it's spotlight but there was only the one searching for escapees and that was on the other side of the island, there was another chopper but it still hovered over the compound.

Batman turned his craft toward the mainland and switched on the thermographic imaging display onscreen inside the submersible's cockpit. Submerged just below the surface but leaving the clear canopy above the waterline Batman gazed across the bay and tried to pick out a likely landmark a swimmer would use as a guide and began his search. Beneath the waves the sub's imager scanned the area; dark blue and purple dominated the view-screen, reflecting the cold water of the bay.

About a half mile away from the island Batman spotted movement, a distant wave hitting a jutting rock or buoy perhaps, or something else. It was out of the range of the thermal imager, but he had to be sure so he moved the sub closer to confirm. On the screen a dot of red appeared amid the blue. As the sub closed the distance the red dot grew, and orange then yellow erupted in it's center. A lone swimmer flailed against the waves desperately trying to reach the shore. He swam as if chased by an aquatic predator, and he was.

As Batman sped toward the escapee he slid the canopy forward and stood in the cockpit. When he was close he grabbed the inmate by his Arkham-orange collar and yanked him out of the water. As he was hauled onto the small sub the prisoner wailed in surprise and twisted fiercely but Batman's grip was like iron. There would be no escape this time as the man in an Arkham-orange jumpsuit looked up into his captors eyes and through the haze of his own insanity he saw his defeat.

Batman didn't know this particular resident of Arkham. His head was shaven and his thin frame weighed almost nothing, even soaking wet. His bulging eyes darted this way and that, betraying his madness. Caught in Batman's grasp the inmate smiled and with a voice hoarse from his exertions he began to chant; "I found a Bat in my bathtub, a bat in my bat-tub, a tat in my bat-bub, a tut in my bat-bab a but in my…"

"That's enough!" Batman interrupted and yanked his captive closer revealing missing teeth and horrid breath. "Before you go back to your cell you're going to tell me about Simon Dunstan!"

Batman's captive's sickly smile widened. "Sneaky Simon, he snooped. He snooped did sneaky Simon. Snooped into cellars, he snooped and smelled and snooped into sewers, and soon he smelled… soon he saw… he saw a secret!"

One gloved fist held the insane inmate sprawled over the sub's hull as Batman directed it toward a nearby Harbor Patrol boat with his free hand, all the while trying to make sense of his captive's ramblings. "Tell me about this secret."

The prisoner's smile faded. "Tell?! I can't tell! Too many telled! Too many told!" His ravings so far didn't bode well and his face grew sombre as he continued, "Sorry Simon, simple Simon, had a story. Simon says a secret story. He shouldn't have said, shouldn't have showed…"

"Who did he show?" Batman asked, but the inmate ignored the question.

"They made him wait, they did. Wait he did.

"Who? Who made him wait?"

The inmates eyes grew large and he whispered, "The shadow men, shaaaa-doooww. Shaddddow, shalllllow. And now he's shallow, gravely shallow, shallow grave. Poor Simon, Pool Simon, put poor Simon in his pool. Simon's Pool, Simon's Pond."

"Who were they? Did they kill him?" Batman repeated, trying to keep the lunatic on track.

The inmate suddenly began shouting, "Secrets! Too many secrets! TOO MANY! TOO MANY! TOO MANY!" then he continued, sombre again, "Two by two by two by two by two…" It was obvious Batman wasn't going to get any more out of him as the inmate repeated his chant over and over until his voice finally gave out, but still he sustained it by silently mouthing the words. Batman bound his prisoner as he approached one of the many Harbor Police boats in the area...

On the deck of the small patrol boat a wet thump was heard. The men who were charged with watching the shore for escaping inmates turned to find one cuffed, soaking wet and flopping about on the deck like a fish out of water. One man quickly turned his light to the seaward side of his craft. He caught only a glimpse of a smooth, shiny black shape before it sank under the waves.

* * *

_To be continued..._


	4. Chapter 4

**Goddess: Descention**

_**Book One: Asylum**_

_**Part Three: King Lukas**_

* * *

**_OZYMANDIAS_**

**_"My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:_**

**_Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!"_**

**_Nothing beside remains. Round the decay_**

**_Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare_**

**_The lone and level sands stretch far away._**

_Percy Bysshe Shelly_

_(1792-1822)_

* * *

_Arkham Asylum_

Batman doubted that the madly rambling inmate he caught was Simon Dunstan's killer, and if he was, he's in custody now in any case. But he had a hunch that the chanting inmate likely found Dunstan already dead and dragged him to the circle of rocks where Batman found him. _The real killer or killers have probably reached the mainland and are long gone by now._ A sick feeling of guilt erupted within as he relayed the events to Alfred who in turn would anonymously inform Commissioner Gordon that at least two killers, possibly more have escaped the prison and have reached the mainland. Batman submerged his vehicle and set a course back to the island. He would make damned sure no one else escaped tonight.

Batman approached the island again but under the churning murky water it was impossible to see anything even with the high intensity lights the sub was equipped with. In the chilly water thermographic imaging too was all but useless when trying to locate objects that are as cold as the water that surrounds them, but the Batman had other options. Like his namesake he used sonar to aid his search and to find his way safely between the jagged obstructions as he neared the island.

Batman began his search slightly north of the body's location. He doubted the slight inmate he found could have dragged the heavy corpse of Simon Dunstan far. Batman calculated the direction of the current and how the dead inmate would have drifted in the immediate area and where the babbling inmate may have found him to deduce the best region to begin his search. As he propelled his craft he scanned the area; the sonar painted a picture of his surroundings and relayed them to the view-screen mounted just behind the twin joysticks he used to navigate the small craft. He also kept a corner of the screen open for the thermal-image display just in case a warm body happened by.

The highly sensitive sonar system was able to map out the sub's surroundings with surprising detail. He soon found what he was looking for. It's roundness stood out on the screen amid sharp-angled rocks. A hemispherical shape with parallel lines that ran up from the flat part of the half-circle to the circle's arc. It was a grate, and judging by it's tilt, it had fallen, or more likely, it was moved. Behind the grate the sonar indicated a long empty tunnel.

The passage was too narrow, even for the small submersible to navigate; it was time for Batman to get his feet wet. As he directed the sub to surface Batman readied a rebreather that was kept inside the aquatic vehicle. The apparatus was a prototype developed by WayneTech, and was much smaller than its commercial or even military counterparts. Altered slightly to fit over his cowl, Batman donned the device then typed a code into the control pad in his gauntlet that would seal his armor, making it as impervious to water as a wet suit. He then slid open the canopy and plunged into the dark water. As he descended Batman hit another button on his gauntlet that would seal the submersible and set it's auto-navigate system to keep it from being carried away by the current.

With the light that was affixed to the back of his gauntlet, Batman quickly found the passage again. It was a sewer system, he discerned as he entered the tunnel, but old judging by the style of it's construction. Built long before the asylum and completely submerged, the tunnel was extensive and it proved to be a long swim. _Quite a feat, _he thought, _for someone like Simon Dunstan, if he made it out alive. _

Finally the passage opened out to a small reservoir filled only halfway with seawater. He removed the rebreather and scanned his surroundings. He noticed right away it was quake-damaged; part of one side of the rock wall had broken off and fallen to the bottom of the basin. Batman scanned the entire area with his light but he could find no other breach in the vicinity. He moved toward the broken wall and the tumbled rocks provided a means to climb to the top. Several meters above Batman found a fissure. Probably formed by the quake and made larger later. Scuff marks and a few threads of Arkham-orange caught by the aperture's jagged edges gave mute evidence that this was the exit point for the escaping inmates. He shone his light into the dark gap but all he could see were pipes above. Batman had to squeeze is large armored frame inside the opening and after much grunting and scraping he finally pulled himself through. On the other side Batman found himself in an access tunnel. A place where drainage pipes converged from all parts of the east-wing building just below the lowest subbasement.

He took only one step before he heard voices from the far side of the tunnel and immediately the Batman extinguished his light and melted into the shadows. A dozen men approached but only one carried a flashlight. Batman avoided looking directly at the light as they neared to allow his eyes adjust to the darkness. By the noise they were making he didn't need to see them to know exactly where they were.

Their whispered voices were excited, but the one with the flashlight angrily hushed the rest silent. He was a big man, muscular and tall and even in the dim light Batman could see he walked with a cautious confidence. He was Lukas Simms, and Batman knew him well. Simms had beaten to death half a dozen people at his own high school reunion and that was only the beginning of his rampage.

To find and apprehend Simms previously Batman had looked extensively into his background, even his sealed juvenile records. From what he learned it only made sense that Simms tenuous hold on sanity would break at his high school reunion. Born to a middle class family, both parents were hard working honest people with no criminal records or history of mental illness and they seemed to care deeply for their only son. However as a teenager Simms was a victim. He was always big, but in his youth he was grossly overweight and always fearful; of the unknown, of the dark and of the constant ridicule he endured. Like a pack of wild dogs the school bullies could smell his fear and they were relentless in their hounding of the young and overly sensitive Lukas Simms. As a result Simms withdrew into himself.

Lukas Simms' hobbies encompassed reading and writing fantasy stories to escape the reality of his harsh existence but at some point this escapism became the dominant factor in his life and he began to live not in the real world but in a fantasy world of his own making. Lukas' grades began to slip as his stories took precedence over his schoolwork and he whispered to himself constantly; playing out the events based in reality and mirrored in his new world within his own mind.

His parents grew concerned and set up an appointment with a psychologist but before his first session Lukas Simms had his first psychotic break. The school bullies pursued him once more but this time Lukas Simms tenuous hold on reality cracked and he turned on his attackers. Snarling, Lukas beat the would-be bullies bloody; breaking noses, arms and one unfortunate boy ended up with a broken neck and would never walk again. Simms ran after the fight and the police were called. He was found days later and when he tried to fight the police they forcefully subdued him and brought him to Arkham for psychological testing under the care of Dr. Jonathon Crane.

In retrospect, if Crane had been the caring doctor the world at that time believed him to be Lukas Simms would have gotten the help he needed but that was not to be. Crane was a monster even then, before he became the Scarecrow. But even so, Crane still had to maintain appearances; he was manoeuvring his position, trying to gain ultimate control over Arkham and he needed successful cases to do that. Lukas Simms would be one such case. Drug therapy as well as private consultation was prescribed for Simms and after several months of intensive treatment Lukas was released providing he took the medication Crane prescribed for him and continued with his therapy. He resumed classes at a different school and graduated without incident.

Years later Crane fell from grace as his atrocities came to light. With his downfall close at hand Crane destroyed many of his private case files and notes on his patients, including those of Lukas Simms. No one knows what went on during those private therapy sessions, no one knows the worms of insanity Crane planted in the unknowing minds of those he pretended to help, and no one knew the damage they would cause later.

With his doctor now in custody and imprisoned in his own asylum the drug therapy that Simms was under stopped because the doctor assigned to readdress Crane's numerous cases was not the brilliant chemist Crane was, he could not see the affect the drugs had on Simms and he could not predict the effect stopping them would lead to, all he could see was a patient without a psychotic episode in years under a superfluous medication.

After graduating Lukas Simms began working for a construction firm and the fat melted away under the constant physical exertion of his work. Simms body became stronger but whatever Crane did through the therapy and the drugs he prescribed weakened his mind and after the drugs stopped Simms' hold on reality began to slip once more. Once mild-mannered, Simms behaviour changed, he became paranoid and aggressive, he saw those around him as lesser men that sought to take from him what was his. His mind began to sporadically dwell on the fears he had when he was a boy and he began to whisper to himself again, explaining those fears, justifying them. The fantasy world he lived in as a teenager clouded his mind again but this time he created a world that revolved around him, a world where he was king.

The high school reunion brought back and congealed all those memories of confusion and fear he had as a boy but he wasn't a boy anymore, he wasn't helpless anymore: The reunion was an opportunity to show them all who he really was. In a high school gymnasium amid the music and the dancing under a disco ball and the twirling lights, where old friends and former frenemies reacquainted themselves under multi-colored balloons the fantasy world Simms created solidified around him and he lost his tentative hold on reality. Lukas Simms snapped, he turned his fears into aggression and became what had tormented him relentlessly as a child; a bully, but much, much worse.

After the violence at the reunion Simms disappeared but new victims began to surface all over Gotham and that was when King Lukas emerged on Batman's radar. The confrontation between them was encompassed within Simms' fantasy-world and in it Batman became the focus of the unexplainable and dark reality that King Lukas could not control or conquer. He was the demon-bat, infused with dark powers beyond the ken of even the powerful King Lukas. In the end Batman had defeated Simms and brought him back to Arkham. The King may have fallen, but Simms vowed he would rise again.

Lukas Simms was strong and powerful, he used his brute strength to great advantage and he was quicker than his size should allow, but he was a brawler: There was no technique or refinement when he fought, just heavy blows designed to break his opponents and break them quickly. Highly superstitious and paranoid, Simms lived in a brutal fantasy world where he believed he was defending his rightful place as king and he killed without compunction anyone who stood in his way. In Simms' world only the strong survived but even the mighty could be brought low by the unexplainable, evil entities he saw as ghosts and demons. When Batman brought him down before Simms saw him as some sort of devil summoned by his enemies to defeat him. So now, as he was escaping his prison, Simms was wary, not of the men behind him, but of what lurked in the unknown darkness before him.

The men that followed Simms, or King Lukas as he preferred to be addressed, were unknown to Batman for the most part. A mixture of patients from the ward above most likely. Many looked emaciated with lesions and old scars on their shaven heads and pallid faces, their orange prison uniforms were stained and torn; King's men indeed. Simms, who led the group, appeared to be the only real threat among the inmates that approached and Batman knew exactly how to deal with him.

As the desperate men groped their way down the passage, they could smell their freedom in the salt air and it grew stronger with every step. Simms quickened the pace and moved like a man possessed, and he believed he was. He was an ancient king reborn. Exiled and locked away, his birthright stolen and his kingdom usurped, but not for long. He will begin a bloody campaign to take back what was rightfully his. He looked back at the rag-tag group that followed him and sneered. A meagre army to be sure, scoundrels and villains the lot of them, but they were all he could muster to his cause in this vile place. Still, they were only the beginning; battle would cull the worthy from the worthless and his army would grow into a mighty force that would sweep the land clean of corruption and shatter the usurpers grasp on his fallen kingdom!... He only wished they would just shut up! Their constant whispering was distracting and disconcerting. He could not hear the silent road before them, he could not tell if enemies approached in the darkness and he could not hear the whispered counsels of his own mind. A rage welled up but he subdued it, he needed these men, later he would beat them into submission, but now was not the time and this was not the place for an object-lesson in discipline.

King Lukas peered ahead into the inky blackness, his light pierced the darkness like a radiant spear that punctured the shadows leaving a pale bloodless wound. He slashed left and right with his only weapon against this evil murky gloom that threatened and saw the shadows shrink back but only so long as his light touched them. Beyond the illuminating shaft of brilliance the dark and all the horrors that it promised prevailed.

The scuffling footsteps of his men and their incessant whispering grated on his nerves and the inky blackness that surrounded him seemed to close in on his meagre light. Often he would stop and turn abruptly, feeling more than hearing the slinking silent approach of something unimaginably malevolent. As he turned his light it briefly illuminated the faces of his men, slack-jawed and many of them drooling or grinning stupidly and all with little to no comprehension of where they were or what they were doing beyond escape. Poor guardians for a king he knew and he turned his fear of what might lay hiding in the dark around them into an opportunity to berate his men into silence once again but his anger with them could not completely drown his own fear. He knew something was coming, something dark and sinister. King Lukas did not fear his own mortality, he was a warrior and a reborn king after all, but he knew there were things in the unseen universe much worse than death.

Just after the darting flashlight turned and Simms raged at his followers to stay silent yet again, Batman made his move. He loomed behind the self-styled king, silent and dreadful. Simms felt a presence behind him and his latest tirade halted mid-syllable. Theatricality was as much a weapon in Batman's arsenal as any of his other skills and gadgets and against the likes of men such as these it was formidable. He could not see the look of horror on Lukas Simms' face but from the silhouette made by the light Batman could see his body tense immediately. Some of the 'king's' men felt Batman's presence as well and the others took their cue from Simms when they saw the abject terror pass over his face. Still others saw the black on black shadowy wall that loomed in the dark passage before them, a wall just as impassable as the one that surrounded their prison above and they felt the first twinges of the panic that would invariably grip them all.

Batman knew Simms to be fearful of the unknown which included the apparition known as The Batman and he also knew that fight not flight was King Lukas' only course of action against such a threat. Batman's first course of action was to remove Simms' only weapon against the darkness, a stinging blow to a pressure point in the wrist sent shivers of pain up the king's arm and the flashlight dropped from his numb fingers to go skittering across the passage's floor, spinning as it went. The big man roared in pain and defiant rage as he turned on his unseen attacker with a wild sweeping swing from his undamaged arm but Batman had already melted back into the black.

The light which was once an ally, seemed to have turned against the desperate men as it revolved around the tunnel creating rather than banishing the shadows. The spinning light turned the passageway into a kaleidoscope of horrors where a demon moved freely amongst the frightened men as perilous and untenable a noxious cloud.

For men who have walked too close to the edge of sanity and have fallen into madness Batman's silent attack was a nightmare come true. To them it was as if the very darkness that surrounded them came suddenly to life with only one purpose; to terrorize them. In his own mind each saw their own personal horror as shadow and light revolved around them. They would see a claw of inky blackness pull them into darkness, or the horns of a shadow demon come to take them to hell. Frenzied shrieks echoed off the tunnel walls and fuelled the panic that gripped the men. Fear froze their hearts, knotted their bellies and turned their bowels to water as they danced in the spinning darkness to the music of their own screams.

Simms bellowed his rage and fear as he lumbered through his own panic stricken men knocking them aside. Each pass of the light revealed another man down, some fallen to the shadow and some to their own 'king'. Two of the terrified men bolted; one of which ran headlong into the tunnel wall knocking himself into unconsciousness, the other ran in the right direction at least, toward the fissure ahead, but Batman managed to trip him up with a Batarang and he fell sprawling and mewling in terror on the passage floor. Finally the cries and screams abated to a pitiful whimpering that rose from the throats of the few inmates still conscious but too afraid to rise from the tunnel floor.

As the spinning light slowed the only inmate left standing was King Lukas. Panting and grunting he turned this way and that, his eyes wide with fear trying desperately to see his attacker in the shadows that formed and melted before his very eyes. Simms bellowed at the darkness, "Come out Demon! Come out and face me!" One arm hung loosely at his side still numb from Batman's first blow, the other was held ready, his hand clenched tightly in a huge fist not unlike a medieval mace. "I will send you and whoever conjured you up back to the pit they summoned you from!"

Batman knew the game he was playing was feeding Lukas Simms' psychosis, pulling him ever deeper into his own malign fantasy. Men like Simms were victims of their own twisted minds, he understood that, pitied them for it, but he would use any and every advantage available when apprehending such dangerous offenders. If he didn't there would be many more victims than those walled up inside this asylum.

Still, Batman truly believed that even the most demented of minds could be reached and sense restored. With all the advances in medical technology and research that delved into the almost mystical functions of the human brain, he had to believe a cure for many of these mental afflictions would someday be discovered, could even be discovered in a place like Arkham Asylum. Batman had to hold to that belief, if he did not he would move closer to a line he had forbidden himself to cross.

As insane or even as evil as the inmates of this asylum were there was a chance however slim that someday they could find their way out of the darkness of their own minds. Jonathon Crane, Harvey Dent, Waylon Jones, and especially the Joker and the rest including Lukas Simms deserved little in the way of sympathy in light of the lives they've destroyed. Some believed they didn't deserve to live themselves but Batman wasn't one of them.

It all came down to hope. Many of the inmates here would not hope for deliverance from their own madness. Some relished it, gloried in it, found freedom in it in spite of the walls that surrounded them. Batman however, hoped for their redemption even if they did not, and that was one of the many reasons, perhaps the most important reason why he did not kill: Death was final and forever, with no lessons learned, no second chances and no hope of redemption; but where there is life… there is always hope.

But hope did not soften Batman's resolve. He was the Dark Knight, born of shadow and menace. Buried deep beneath his towering sense of justice there was an unfathomable well of anger and hatred for the injustice of the world. He tapped that well, used it and from it created a persona of nightmares that sent a chill down the spines of all those who would oppose justice. It was a balance he must maintain, he must be master of that seething pit of rage or become a slave to it. That was the fine line he walked every time he donned the cape and the cowl. That thin line between towering rage and unwavering justice was the difference between subduing an opponent and beating a criminal senseless, perhaps causing irreparable physical harm, and it was the difference between using a criminal's fears against them, and intensifying their psychosis's, causing even more mental anguish.

On nights like this however, when the stakes were so high, when the possibility of the demented minds of this diseased place running loose amongst an innocent population was all too real a threat… On nights like this that fine line blurred.

The spinning light slowed and finally rocked to a stop, it's long conical beam shone diagonally across the passage and illuminated the bright orange jumpsuit worn by the man who would be king. The salty tang in the air that only a few seconds ago promised deliverance from this dungeon had faded, replaced by the sickly scent of fear, musty decay and his own men's urine. The soft moans and pathetic whimpers of his 'army' on the floor surrounded Lukas Simms but those were the only sounds he heard, besides the rasp of his own heavy breathing and the scuffling of his own heavy feet. Of the shadow-demon, of the Bat, he could neither see nor hear a trace, but he could still feel his ominous presence lurking somewhere in the black. He turned again, his back against the pale beam of light and taunted the darkness once more, but he could not keep the fear out of his voice. "C-come out and f-face me demon!" When King Lukas turned back toward the shaft of light the Dark Knight stepped into its pale radiance.

Upon seeing him again, Lukas Simms' heart momentarily stopped and his breath caught in his throat. Gasping he took a step back as Batman took a step closer. The demon's low cavernous whisper sounded to the king's ears as if it came from the deepest pit of hell, "I may be a demon Simms, but you're no king."

In the depths of his twisted mind Lukas Simms terror transformed into a dangerous and reckless ferocity. King Lukas howled in fury and like a wild animal, cornered, desperate, with nothing left to lose, he lunged at the demon-bat. Batman side-stepped the violent charge but Simms' blind rage gave him some kind of insight or intuition, or perhaps it was just blind-luck that his flailing arm caught Batman's cape as the he spun out of the king's way. Finding something of substance to hold on to in the darkness gave Simms a direction for his uncontrolled onslaught. King Lukas turned toward the prize in his hand quicker than one would expect of a man his size and barrelled into his enemy. The impact knocked the wind from Batman's lungs as he was slammed into the tunnel wall with a force that felt like a freight train.

Pinned between the wall and the frothing madman Batman tried to twist his body enough to free himself but Simms' fist was raised and poised to fall on him and suddenly Batman needed both hands to stay that hammer-like blow. With Simms' huge fist in his hands and the King's other arm still weak from the demon-bat's first blow, Batman was able to turn just enough to kick Simms on the outside of his knee which caused him to stagger and gave Batman enough leverage to twist free.

King Lukas was completely immersed in a berserk rage now. His fear, his superstition, and his kingdom all took a backseat to the fury that now drove him. Simms was beyond reason. His face now only vaguely resembled that of a human as it distorted into a feral snarl. There were no more taunts issued from his foaming mouth only an animal-like roar as he flailed madly at his enemy with his numb arm. The King's huge fist still in his hands Batman kicked the great fuming hulk away and sent him staggering into the darkness.

Simms backed into one of his cowering men on the floor and fell. The King crawled forward and like before during his many rampages King Lukas was incapable of distinguishing friend from foe and with a snarling bellow Lukas raised both fists to smash down on the helpless man cringing before him. Before that devastating blow landed however, Batman took a running leap and kicked Simms again this time with both feet and sent him further back into the tunnel. Grunting and howling in fury Simms regained his feet and poised himself for another charge while Batman quickly made an adjustment on his gauntlets and stepped back into the dim light, giving King Lukas a definitive target for his next attack.

Short of killing him there was little that could stop King Lukas now. Batman knew that in his present state Simms understood nothing except his fury, he could feel no pain, no remorse and was incapable of reason. With nothing between him and his adversary but empty darkness, Simms charged again yowling in an bestial frenzy but Batman was ready for him. When Simms reached him Batman ducked under his flailing arm and struck him just under his shoulder delivering and electrical shock through his gauntlet. Batman had adjusted the electrical current that would normally have caused his cape to configure into the glider formation into what was essentially a taser. As the mild electrical current buzzed through him Simms' charge went past Batman and into a tunnel wall. But King Lukas was not done yet. Dazed and shocked but still in the clutches of his berserker rage Simms turned back toward the Batman and with a howl of fury he charged again. And again Batman struck him at two more pressure points that jolted and burned through his huge body. Batman's blows were not necessarily hard hits, he knew Simms could not feel pain and that strength would not defeat King Lukas. Instead Batman chose the placement of his strikes carefully, weakening his enemy a little more with every blow.

Strike after strike Batman continued the assault until finally the electrical jolts began to take their toll on the hulking inmate. His flailing arms grew heavier and slower, his charges were sluggish and the King began to stagger. Breathless and panting, the strength of his huge body waning from the repeated jolts of electrical current from Batman's decisive strikes sapped his fury. Simms made a final lunge at the object of his rage but his huge body could not comply and the King fell with a mountainous clamor at Batman's feet.

* * *

_To be continued..._


	5. Chapter 5

**Goddess: Descention**

_**Book One: Asylum**_

_**Part Four: Trapped**_

* * *

_**In This Strange Labyrinth**_

_**In this strange labyrinth how shall I turn?**_

_**Ways are on all sides while the way I miss:**_

_**Let me go forward, therein danger is;**_

_**If to the left, suspicion hinders bliss**_

_**Stand still is harder, although sure to mourn;**_

_**Thus let me take the right, or left hand way;**_

_**I must these doubts endure without allay**_

_Mary Sidney Wroth_

_(est. 1587-1623)_

* * *

_Arkham Asylum_

After binding the subdued inmates to metal pipes that ran along the walls Batman left the 'King' and his 'court' to wait, whimpering in the semi-darkness, for the authorities to retrieve and continued down the tunnel. He retraced the inmates' path in the dark passage and soon found an unlocked access door. Batman listened before he passed through, but he heard nothing in the immediate area. He heard muted voices from somewhere above however and Batman wondered if the riot police had finally breached the building. He pushed the door open wider and could see dim orange emergency lighting flicker in the room beyond but something was on the other side of the door. He pushed through the access door and saw that it led to a stairwell and just inside he found what had been holding the door in place.

Bodies. Three of them, two Arkham guards and a woman dressed in scrubs with a floral pattern; a nurse. They sat against the wall in a row, legs folded into the lotus position; hands on knees, palms up, eyes closed as if in meditation, though one of the guards had fallen over. Most disturbing however was the 'x' carved in the middle of each of their foreheads.

Batman blocked out the revulsion of what he was seeing and studied the bodies objectively; their wounds, their placement, he made note of all the details. The Arkham guards were both stabbed several times, but the nurse suffered only two wounds, a puncture to her abdomen that incapacitated but she died from the single slash to the throat. The crosses carved into each of their foreheads was done post-mortem, the wounds were too clean. Batman didn't believe this was the work of Simms and his crew, they didn't have weapons on them and even on the outside Simms' body was his weapon, he relied on his own brute strength rather than knives or even guns and the wounds on the guards were similar to the ones he found on Simon Dunstan. Made from a small blade but very sharp and this time the wounds' placement told a slightly different story than those of Dunstan. The presentation of the bodies, which was something else Simms never did, was probably not meant to be disturbed, the guard that fell over and blocked the door was likely pushed aside when Simms and his men passed through. Batman knelt beside the fallen guard and briefly examined him. Based on blood lividity, muscle flaccidity and body temperature he determined they were killed no more than two hours ago. He also noted something slightly different between the two guards, one was missing his key-card. He found it on the floor between the guard and the door and picked it up. He took out a device and scanned the prints on it then he put it back where he found it. Batman looked again at the nurse, she was in her early fifties perhaps but the cause of her death was what really interested him. The manner of her death was different from the guards. Her wounds were clean and precise unlike the guards but the slash to her throat was diagonal; starting high on the right and finishing low on the left. That indicated a backhand slash, perhaps a defensive strike. Batman examined her hands, there was blood on them, there was blood everywhere and most likely her own but on a hunch he took a fingernail scraping, if only to prove what he had already suspected. Batman stood over the victims once again, he gazed down at their posed bodies and he knew who did this.

As Batman turned back toward the door, his mind raced. _It__'__s been less than two hours, there was still time, he could still be in the bay, or at least still in the bay area. _As he pulled the door open to step back into the dark passage beyond several strategies came to mind. He would have to plug the fissure somehow so any more inmates bent on escape this way would find only a dead end. He would call Gordon, intensify the search in and around Gotham Bay, now that he knew who he was looking for and how great a threat they faced…Then he heard a muffled gunshot followed by stifled shouts and screams from somewhere above. For the second time tonight Batman was pulled in two directions, he could turn and chase the devil he knew or climb the stairs and face the devil he didn't.

Unfortunately situations where hard decisions had to be made were part of Batman's job, his self-appointed crusade. He had realized long ago he could not be in two places at once and as in many situations before he had to choose the greater of two evils never really knowing for sure if he had chosen correctly. Time was of the essence and it took only an instant for Batman to weigh his options and make his decision: Trying to find the escaped killer in the bay area with a two hour head start had a remote chance of success, besides the harbor police were patrolling the bay and the Gotham PD were on alert, they might get lucky. And there was a definite situation here; the riot still raged in the building above, and Batman did not know how much control the inmates had in the east-wing and it didn't sound as if the authorities had gained any ground as of yet. Batman quickly updated Alfred as he raced up the stairs.

This was the lowest level and the stairs only went up to the next landing and ended at another access door. Before he stepped through Batman listened again and heard nothing but the echoes of shouting from the floors above, there was no sound from this level, so far, but there was light. Flickering emergency lighting created stuttering circles of illumination along the corridor. Batman stepped through the door and cautiously walked down the hall. Other doors on this level led to other corridors and through the barred windows of these doors he could see that they led to cellblocks, and all the electronically sealed doors to the cells were open. The corridor led to an open area, a reception desk at it's center, much like a hospital. Across from the desk was an elevator which seemed to be powered down. There were corridors in all four walls that led off into other wards, or more aptly, cellblocks.

As Batman entered the reception area he froze; he heard something that sounded like a sharp intake of breath. He glanced behind the desk and saw an inmate sitting on the floor intently trying to push a straightened paperclip through the back of his blood-stained hand. By the amount of blood that speckled the floor, his clothes and his hand it looked as though he succeeded, several times. He didn't even look up as Batman approached, he was so intent on his work, and he didn't see the black fist that descended upon him to put him out of his misery.

Batman moved around the desk and it's unconscious and bloody occupant toward the stairwell down one of the halls near the elevators. Halfway up the stairs the shouting from the level above suddenly grew more intense and Batman quickened his steps. When he reached the next level he opened the door a crack and analyzed the situation.

The layout of this level was much like the floor below. The reception area was a roughly hexagonal-shaped enclosure with a short wall that extended past the desk's height, to about five feet from the floor. At either end of the enclosure's entrances were hip-high swinging doors and next to these thick square pillars rose to the ceiling. On the far side of his location an Arkham guard had an inmate cornered within the circle of the reception desk. Nearby on the floor another guard moaned, his hands covered his stomach and a pool of blood was forming under him. On the far side of the room what appeared to be a doctor wearing a stained lab coat cowered behind the armed guard.

From his vantage point Batman could not see the inmate but the shouting revealed that he had a gun and hostages. They were all huddled on the floor inside the circle that was the reception area. Batman, cloaked in shadow, slowly moved closer. Opposite the lone guard and behind the Arkham prisoner he crouched down and tried to get a view of the inmate and his hostages.

"Please, just go away!" the gunman begged. "I have to stay here, the Doctor said so!"

The man in the lab coat spoke, "Which doctor Henry? Who would tell you to threaten people like this?"

"They are bad people, the Doctor said I have to keep them here till _He_ comes."

As the doctor tried to reason with the inmate Batman inched his way closer. "They aren't 'bad' people Henry, they are just people, look at them, people with families, people with hopes and dreams, just like you." As the doctor spoke Batman was able to see the gunman in the reflection of a darkened computer monitor on the desk. He was older, very light or white thinning hair, his eyes wide with nervous fear. Batman could hear one of the hostages crying; a female, and close to the gunman. From another dark computer screen Batman could see another hostage, probably on the other side of the woman, a male wearing light colored or white scrubs and there was a third hostage that he couldn't see. The only hostage making any sound was the female cowering next to the gunman.

"You don't understand, no one understands, no one but the Doctor." The inmate was sobbing now and the bleeding guard on the floor moaned.

"Help me to understand Henry." said the doctor, trying to be soothing, but his own anxiety was showing in his voice. Batman glanced toward the sound of the moan, the man on the floor didn't have long, he was bleeding extensively, he would have to end this soon.

The doctor and the armed guard on the other side of the room were unaware of Batman's presence. That wasn't necessarily good, anything he tried might provoke the guard into firing his weapon needlessly and dangerously. Batman had to let him know that he was there. He carefully moved behind the pillar and Henry allowing his silhouette to be seen. Startled recognition showed on the guard's face and he nodded, relieved to have help. Batman motioned the guard to back off and he did but he didn't lower his weapon. The doctor, oblivious to this exchange, continued to try to talk Henry into giving up his hostages but Henry insisted he had to wait for Him.

"Who Henry? Who do you have to wait for?" asked the doctor.

There was a pause then Henry replied, "Not supposed to say, but he'll be here, the Doctor said he would." Batman had a sinking suspicion that he knew who Henry was waiting for.

Batman didn't like this, too many variables he didn't control. So his only option was to remove the variables and take control. He would have to do several things at once and he would have to be precise. As with all situations where innocents were involved, there was no margin for error; a mistake or a miscalculation could kill a hostage. He readied his weapons and took a deep calming breath…

On the floor of the reception area Henry was down on his knees next to his hostages. Their hands and feet were manacled with the asylum's leather and iron restraints. Henry sat next to a woman, a nurse, she was sobbing quietly, the other two, a man and another woman were staring at him. Henry didn't like it when people stared at him. He scowled at them and looked down at the gun in his hand. It was shaking and he didn't know why. The medicine the Doctor gave him was supposed to help, he said this new medicine was supposed to make him calm, would take away the anger and the panic. But Henry didn't feel calm, he felt as if his head was about to explode and his muscles were all scrunched, he needed to stand up and stretch, but he knew they would shoot him if he did. Did the medicine make him feel this way? The doctor said this medicine was better, that it would help. He couldn't be wrong, he was the Doctor.

Henry wished He would get here soon, Henry wanted to end this. Henry wanted his pain to stop. But it didn't stop, and suddenly there was much more pain and he couldn't understand why his hand hurt and where was the gun he just had? He also couldn't see. A grey mist enveloped him and his hostages, they were shouting and crying. He hated all that noise, if he still had his gun he would stop the noise. But his gun was gone and his hand hurt, did the gun turn into a snake and bite him? Then he was rising from the floor and felt himself dragged over the low wall of the reception desk.

Out of the smoke into the dim hallway Henry could see again. Henry looked up into an angry cowled face, "It's You! He said you would come! I have a message from the Doctor." And Henry did exactly what Doctor Crane told him to do. Happily Henry told Batman his message, "Dr. Crane said to tell you that all this was your fault." With that he plunged the needle he had in his other hand into his own chest. But it wasn't an ordinary needle, there was something attached to the back of it that looked like a tiny balloon. As Henry's face twisted into a rictus of pain and his body stiffened in Batman's grasp the little balloon on the end of the syringe burst into a fine mist. Batman turned his face away and held his breath but it was too late, he knew he must have inhaled some of Crane's toxin, because he could already feel it's effects.

The room began to swim, the haze of his own smoke capsule added to the effect. Henry seemed to melt in his hands to form a puddle of ichor at his feet. Batman knew what he was seeing couldn't possibly be real. It was the effects of a powerful hallucinogen concocted by Crane. He knew this, but why did he feel such a profound heart-tearing guilt as he watched Henry dissolve into a pool of blood on the floor and just before his face liquefied completely Henry repeated his message to Batman; _"__It__'__s all your fault.__"_He couldn't look at Henry anymore, he glanced over the short wavering partition and saw Henry's former hostages against the far wall sitting in a row in the lotus position, eyes closed but each had a third eye in the middle of their foreheads that stared menacingly at him. Beneath them a large pool of blood was forming and in the midst of that grisly pool the wounded man was, like Henry, melting and sinking into the spreading blood on the floor. Just before he sank completely the dying guard looked accusingly up at him as well and mouthed the same words Henry had just dutifully relayed; _It__'__s all your fault__…_Batman backed away until a wall materialized behind him and stopped his retreat.

Internally he fought against the effects of the toxin. He knew it for what it was; poison, and he held on to that fact. Facts, the building blocks of who he was. Facts and control. Control of emotions, of fears, of distractions. Every aspect of his life was controlled and bent to a specific purpose. His rebuilt life, ever since… _No! _He would not go there, not now. That way leads to madness. He closed his eyes and felt the wall behind him, felt its solidness despite the fact that he could also feel the floor slipping out from under him. When he opened his eyes he saw the guard approaching. Batman waved him back and warned him away in a strained voice, " Stay, away… Toxin, in the air." He didn't know if it still was looming in the area unseen but he didn't want to take the chance of having to deal with someone else under it's effects: He was having enough trouble dealing with his own reaction. On the far side of the room Batman could see shadows move and voices talking and shouting. The part of his mind that still retained a grip on reality recognized them as Gordon's specially trained riot police. If they had gotten this far down into the building than the rest of the wing should be back under control. They wouldn't need him he hoped, because he was rapidly losing that tentative grip on reality. Soon he would be of no use to anyone. He backtracked out the door he came through, he needed to get out of here, the air was thick and stifling.

* * *

_To be continued..._


	6. Chapter 6

**Goddess: Descention**

**_Book One: Asylum_**

**_Part Five: Internal_**

* * *

**_Desert Places_**

**_They cannot scare me with their empty spaces_**

**_Between stars - on stars where no human race is._**

**_I have it in me so much nearer home_**

**_To scare myself with my own desert places._**

_Robert Frost_

_(1874-1963)_

* * *

_Arkham Asylum_

He could feel the toxins effects getting worse. He stumbled down twisted stairs that seemed to jump and slither under his feet. Once on the floor below Batman fumbled with one of the many pockets on his utility belt. Finally his groping fingers found the syringe that contained the antidote for the latest version of Crane's toxin. He injected himself under the chin as the lower half of his face was the only unprotected part of his body and hoped the antidote worked. He was never sure, Crane changed his formulas frequently, always trying to perfect his toxin and like bacteria growing more resistant to antibiotics, the effects of Crane's concoctions were becoming harder to alleviate and counter. Already Batman knew this toxin wasn't the same; the inescapable fear that dominates the Scarecrow's typical poison was not the driving force it usually was. Batman's strong analytical mind saw this at once, even through the haze the toxin created he could feel the fear but it took a backseat to an intense uncertainty and a persuasive need to yield to despair. Again he closed his eyes trying to discern any difference the antidote may have affected but all he could see were the hostages and their third eye glaring accusingly at him and a stray thought fluttered through his mind like a tiny seed on the wind that caught and took malicious root… _I shouldn__'__t have come up here, this was a mistake. I made the wrong choice and now he__'__s free to kill again and again and again__…__ What have I done?! _

When he opened his eyes again the room slanted and twisted and all the color of the world seemed to drain away, all except the blood spattered on the floor and on the inmate laying prone behind the reception desk. Batman stood transfixed as he gazed at the blood on the floor and watched as it slowly twisted into the shape of a bloody red eye. Batman blinked and stumbled away and when he looked again the red eye was gone but the inmate was awake and crawling towards him scowling and muttering, _"__Your fault, all this misery, you know it__'__s all your fault. You could have stopped it but you never do, you never really stop it do you?__"_

Again Batman staggered away from the reception enclosure and into the hallway with the empty cells that he fervently hoped were still empty. Batman tried to concentrate on the door at the end of the hallway as clanks and rustling noises tried to draw his attention to other horrors but he refused to look. His entire focus right now was to get outside so he could breathe.

He pulled open the door that led to the first stairwell and descended while gravity jumped and played under his feet. At the base of the stairs he returned to the three dead bodies that now seemed to float above another pool of blood on the floor. Each opened their eyes to reveal empty sockets, except the eyes that replaced the carved X 's in the middle of their foreheads; those eyes were whole and glared balefully at him. Then the corpses began to whisper in sombre discordant voices and they all said the same thing… _"__ It__'__s all your fault. We didn__'__t have to die. Your fault, you wouldn__'__t stop it, you never stop it. This is your fault.__"_

It may have been the antidote finally taking effect or it could have been his own iron will or perhaps a combination of the two but for a moment sense returned to him and Batman tried to drown out the voices with his own internal mantra: _This isn__'__t real, you are hallucinating, it__'__s not real, you know it is not real. _But the reprieve was brief and his own mind was again betraying him, trying to take him to dark places, a dimension where the facts and control that he had cultivated all his life were meaningless. He felt himself succumbing to something deep inside himself, something he thought he had conquered long ago but it lived still and it was striving to reach the surface. It boiled up now, from the pit of his own personal hell. All the fear and loss and the senselessness he felt so long ago as a child surrounded by twin pools of blood forming under the bodies of his dead parents in a cold dark alley; it was all coming back now and he couldn't stop it.

On his knees at the bottom of the stairwell Batman struggled with a villain more powerful than any criminal Gotham had to offer, and more terrifying than any inmate Arkham could throw at him. At the bottom of the pit Batman fought himself: _I did this to myself, to my family. They went into the city that night for me__…__ It _was_ my fault! _It didn't matter that his parents were just granting him a simple childhood wish to see a film at the local theatre. _He_ was the reason they were there and that was all encompassing.

It wasn't only the overwhelming guilt or the devastating solitude that he felt so long ago as he watched the life fade from his parents eyes that attempted to overpower him now, it was the futility of the purpose he had set for himself. Ever since that tragic night he had denied himself everything he had taken for granted before; contentment, happiness, hope, a future. His desolation had mutilated the man he would have become; in essence, killed him. The only life he had ever taken… was his own.

Now he was a warrior immersed in a war he will never win. He's won battles, many battles, but victory at the end of the war will forever elude him. As the reality of this ultimate defeat came crashing down on him he felt a rage rising, a fury he had used in countless battles before, always tightly controlled but now that control faltered…

"_Sir?__"_

He wanted to lash out at something, he needed to feed this fury…

"_Sir, please respond.__"_

Fists clenched, he rose to his feet. The bodies against the wall seemed to mock him now, their single central eyes stared at him accusingly and silently they asked… _"__Why didn__'__t you save us?__"_

He shouted at them, " I can't save everyone!" and threw open the door, knocking over the carefully posed lifeless corpses.

"_Sir, your vital signs are showing an increase across the board. What has happened? Please respond.__"_

Batman could not hear Alfred over his com-link, he was immersed too deeply into his own world of rage and hopelessness. He could hear nothing beyond the whispering of all those he'd failed, graveyards full of people he let die because he could not do the one thing his enemies relished. He could not kill and those he hunted would escape to kill again and again, a cycle of death that knew no end. He stormed into the dark tunnel, still dimly lit by the waning flashlight on the floor and saw the inmates he had captured, still unconscious but in his mind's eye they were all looking up at him, smiling, gloating. He stared down at them. "It never ends." he growled through clenched teeth.

Back in the cave a distressed Alfred monitored Batman's vitals and knew that something perilous had happened, everything had suddenly increased: Temperature, heart rate and respiration all spiked and Batman hadn't checked in as was customary. Alfred decided to hack into his employers com-unit so he could hear what was going on…

Batman took a step closer to the callous men on the tunnel's floor and roared at their belligerent grins "It never ends!"

In the Batcave Alfred listened intently trying to understand what was happening. His employer sounded different, more dangerous than usual. There was a quality in his voice, a voice that he knew so well, that was uninhibited, desperate and dreadfully angry.

"_Sir, Master Bruce, please acknowledge.__"_

As Batman stood menacingly above them King Lukas began to wake and he heard Batman rasp,"You'll get free of this place and kill again. I'll catch you, bring you back here and we'll do it all over again, won't we?" Batman reached down and grabbed the groggy and still-restrained inmate by the collar and yanked him closer. " WON'T WE!?" Simms yelped in terror. He saw a crazed intensity in Batman's eyes. He'd seen that look before in this dungeon, that murderous glare seen through the bars of the isolation wards, where the dangerous ones go… the ones possessed. The demon had him but the King would not go down without a fight, he kicked and twisted but the demon's grip was too strong, all his strength seemed to seep away into the darkness of the beast's wild eyes.

Batman was beyond reason, like King Lukas before, his world now was colored in a red rage as he sought to stop the cycle of death. "How many!? How many more will you kill if you got out of here!?"

Alfred could hear the frenzied metallic clinking as Lukas Simms fought against his restraints, and Alfred heard his desperate cries, but he feared that Batman didn't or didn't care. Alfred determined the situation was critical; Batman has somehow been compromised and Alfred took matters into his own hands…

Batman tightened his grip around King Lukas' thick throat and squeezed with all his strength. "No more! It stops now, it stops tonight!" Batman growled as Simms gasped for breath but he was swiftly losing consciousness. King Lukas' struggles lessened but Batman's rage did not, not while this one still lived. There would be one less monster in his city tonight, one less child that would grow up without parents, one less living nightmare…

"_Sir, I am initiating the Jupiter protocol. Master Bruce, you have five seconds to abort.__"_

Alfred hoped this was just some type of ploy on Batman's part, and waited for the signal that would abort the drastic measure he was forced to utilize, but the signal didn't come.

Lukas Simms stopped fighting but Batman's gauntleted hands still had a hold of his throat, squeezing tighter and tighter… then he abruptly let go…

A high-pitched screaming tone penetrated Batman's toxin-fogged mind while a continuous electrical charge released from his armor, raced through him. He backed away from Simms and fell to his knees. All that existed in his world now was that frightening tone and the current that coursed though his body. His muscles seized and his mind was raked with the screaming reverberating sound. It felt like an eternity of agony had passed before the fog in his mind lifted somewhat and through the thinning haze and the screeching tone he heard or felt something else. Something from far away, from the same place he buried all the pain and sorrow and guilt of so long ago. It was an indistinct memory, an echo of a voice long forgotten, and it simply said… _make your way._

Like a key that unlocked the door to this torturous place the unremembered voice released him and he was finally able to think clearly enough to reach for the controls in his gauntlet that would free him from this dreadful world of pain and deafening sound. He sat there for several long moments, muscles still quivering from the prolonged electrocution. He tried to sort out the events that had just occurred through what was left of the haze in his mind. Gradually his hearing returned and Alfred's worried voice seemed to come from somewhere impossibly far away.

"_Sir, are you alright?__"_

"Yes, better now." He replied, his voice husky with fatigue. Better but not alright, not entirely, Batman was appalled at what he had been about to do. He pulled off one of his gauntlets and reached toward the inmate he had just very nearly strangled to death. Batman was relieved to feel Simms' steady pulse, and no broken bones. His surroundings still swam before him, but the towering rage that he felt was dissipating. That sense of futility still lingered though, as he looked over at the inmates that lay cuffed beneath the walls of Arkham.

"_May I ask what happened Master Bruce?__"_

Batman himself wasn't sure what happened; how that murderous rage overwhelmed him. He had been under the effects of Crane's toxins before, but they never had such a profound effect on him. Secretly he feared his reaction was inspired by more than the powerful poison. Then there was that voice, _was that just part of the hallucination or was it__…_Batman looked down at his gloveless hand, at the small white scar in the middle of his palm… _a memory? _He stood unsteadily and tried to shake the fog in his mind that still lingered."Long story, I'll explain later."

"_Understood.__"_

With his gauntlet still off Batman took an empty syringe from one of the many compartments on his belt to obtain a sample of his own blood. He wanted to isolate and analyze this new toxin back at his lab. He had to find a way to counter it's effects; he would not allow this breach of his moral code to happen again. Without his old friend's intervention…

"Alfred?"

"_Yes Sir?__"_

"Thank-you."

"_Of course Sir.__"_

* * *

_Arkham Asylum_

Commissioner of the Gotham City Police Department, James Gordon watched as an occupied ambulance pulled away from Arkham Asylum's east-wing building only to be replaced by an empty one with a body on a gurney waiting for it. The living had already been taken to Gotham General, the dead had to wait their turn. The area had been deemed contained and the other emergency services were finally being allowed into the prison compound. It was three in the morning and James Gordon was exhausted, but he would see this through.

He stayed close to his car and it's radio so he could call in orders, or redirect his men. Earlier he had to yell at a wayward police helicopter pilot who was too busy taking pictures of the chaos on the compound to search the bay for escapees. And, after he received an 'anonymous' tip that two inmates had indeed escaped he sent a dozen squad cars, that's all he could muster, to comb the mainland's shoreline for escapees or any evidence of them. So far nothing, but he had no doubts about the source of the information, if _he_ said two inmates escaped then two inmates escaped. But if the report he just received from inside the prison was true, it was far worse than two escaped run-of-the-mill Arkham prisoners, if there were such creatures.

He supposed he should go to the prison himself, speak with the warden, who didn't like to be called a warden, he calls himself an _administrator_. Arkham ceased being a hospital years ago, if it ever really was one. Whatever the case, it was a prison now, and prisons have wardens; a duck was a duck. Although he was Commissioner, Gordon didn't play political games, he didn't hide behind euphemisms, and he wasn't hiding now, he was waiting.

Now that the crisis was winding down Gordon expected to hear from that special source. He pulled out a special phone he found in his office one day and, as he looked at it in the palm of his hand, it started to vibrate as if on cue. The text simply read: Bridge 10 min. Gordon got in his car and drove towards Arkham's gates.

Gordon pulled over half-way across the bridge where Batman was waiting, crouched on the railing. Before he closed his car's door Batman spoke, "There's an escape route on the eastern side of the prison, under the east-wing, I plugged the hole temporarily." Straight to the point, thought Gordon, no euphemisms here either. Gordon nodded and Batman continued on to describe the escape route, the body of Simon Dunstan, the live inmate he found swimming across the bay and the location of Lukas Simms and the men he left cuffed in the tunnel.

"Sounds like you've been busy tonight." Unfortunately, Gordon thought. Still there was no mention of the incident in the basement of the east-wing. Whenever any of Gordon's men encounter the Batman, the Commissioner was the first to know about it. "I heard Crane set a trap…." Gordon left it hanging there, hoping Batman would elaborate.

"Was anyone else affected?" Batman replied and Gordon caught the significance; _Anyone else_, so Batman _was_ affected.

"No, no one, ventilation system must have carried it away." Batman was relieved, but also curious as to how it might affect others; would it be the same for anyone or was his violent reaction distinctive only to him.

"And the wounded guard?"

"He was in surgery last I'd heard, the prognosis was good though, but sadly, that's all the good news I have tonight."

"Crane is missing." It was a statement not a question.

"Yes, but there's more, other than the ones you've accounted for there's still several missing, but that's not the worst of it…" Gordon paused to take a breath before he continued but Batman finished the thought for him…

"Zsasz is one of them." Gordon looked down at his shoes and nodded the affirmative, when he looked up again Batman was gone.

* * *

_This story continues in Goddess: Descention, Book Two_


End file.
